Taking Sides
by Cheryl W
Summary: Tag to the 'The Memory Remains.' Sam tends to Dean's injuries and they have a talk about taking sides. No Slash.


Taking Sides

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: Tag to the 'The Memory Remains.' Sam tends to Dean's injuries and they have a talk about taking sides. No Slash.

Author's Note: It's been a long while since I did a tag to an episode but I couldn't pass up this opportunity when Dean got injured and we had the lovely comfort scene on screen. But it just made me want more because I'm greedy!

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Legacy, it wasn't a concept Sam thought about. He had been born and bred to fight just for every moment in life he got, that his family got. And the future, for so long all it had held was dark predictions and hardships that usually were too harsh to bear. Even when Dean asked what their legacy would be, it was spoken it terms of posthumously, when they were both dead and gone.

But then Dean had carved his initials in the wooden table, handed him the knife to do the same and it felt like their legacy was now, alive, like they were. Like Sam prayed he and Dean could stay for say….a good fifty more years.

Sitting up in his bed and turning on the light, Sam swung his legs off the bed and officially gave up the notion of sleeping, his mind still running the day's events through his head. They almost blew it today, that fifty more years together thing. Over a dumb 'goat dude', as Dean liked to call the Saytr. Crap he had been scared and he hated that, not that his ego couldn't stand fear…it was he hated fearing for Dean's life, thinking, even for a blinking of an eye, that he had lost his brother. And not even over some big, save-the-world gesture, but a low tier pagan god who couldn't even find his way out a hole in a basement for centuries. Come on! They were better than this…right?

' _Except we're not…we're human…and we can die doing the everyday things, well,_ _our_ _everyday things. Like Dean said, going twelve rounds with a god…just another normal day for them…that almost ended in tragedy.'_ Bowing his head, Sam ran his hand through his hair. He had a bad feeling when Dean wanted to check the house's upstairs by himself but he let him do it…and then there was that thud and Sam knew, he _knew_ Dean was in danger, that he should have insisted on going with Dean, that they stay together. Because, as sure as the sun came up in the morning, whenever he and Dean were apart there was someone or something always plotting to make it a permanent separation.

So Sam had used the cleaver to good use, hatched open a hole in the basement door big enough for him to slip his hand through and unlock the door from the outside, then he was barreling out of the basement, gun at the ready. But the house was ominously quiet. "Dean!" he called, his voice conveying his panic as he began to search the nearby rooms for his brother. Had found nothing but bad: No Dean and there was the small pool of blood on the stairway landing that churned more fear into Sam's gut.

And he knew it was that fear that had nearly gotten them all killed that night. When they were at the meat packaging plant, when he heard the saytr's roar from the freezer, knew instinctively his brother was in there with the pagan god, about to lose his life, he wasn't as cautious as he should have been. Fought hard to not run for the freezer, thought he was doing an amazing job of keeping his head…until he walked out of the cover of the boxes and didn't look to his left, was too focused on getting to the freezer, to Dean and he consequently got blindsided by Pete all decked out in his goat head persona.

"Stupid, stupid," Sam cursed lowly, shaking his head. He had gotten knocked out, almost woke up too late to shoot Pete, to get to the freezer. And the Saytr, he was standing over his brother, his brother who was on the ground, _vulnerable_ , when he finally got into the freezer. Right, he had killed the monster before he killed his brother. But it was too freaking close, all of it.

So yeah, all his mind wanted to do was replay all that, taunting him with his near failure. He could still taste the terror when Dean had sank down onto the ground, closed his eyes and Sam didn't know if he passed out due to exhaustion or unconsciousness or something worse.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNS **Hours Before** SNSNSNSNSNSN

Sam had run to his brother, dropped the colt on the ground like it was yesterday's trash and put hands on his brother, tenderly rolled Dean over until his brother's head rested in the crook of his arm. "Dean, hey, Dean!" he had called out, felt his mouth go dry when there was no response, when green eyes didn't look up to his. And it wasn't good memories, him holding his brother's unmoving body in his arms. Maybe that's why he choked on the next round of his brother's name. "Dean? Dean!? Hey, wake up, man."

When Dean's eyes fluttered open, Sam inhaled a ragged breath of relief and bowed his head and closed his eyes. Dean was ok, wasn't dead, was still with it enough to be the consummate hunter.

"Pete..He's the goat mascot.." making as if he was going to get up.

Sam restrained Dean with a hand on his chest and met his brother's concussioned eyes. "It's ok, Dean." Then he gave a self-depreciating snort. "I figured that out when I killed him before he killed the sheriff."

Dean let out a relieved breath and let his head sink back down on his brother's arm, closed his eyes again. And Sam knew Dean was hurting bad because he wasn't filling up the silence with smart aleck cracks to ease his baby brother's obvious worry for him. Of course that just tended to redline Sam's concern. He wanted to ask Dean if he needed a hospital but stopped himself before he could suggest something so ludicrous to his big bad brother. Instead he quietly suggested, "Hey, let's get you out of this freezer to warm up." He would take the hospital idea under advisement no matter what Dean wanted if his brother couldn't stand up.

"'Kay," Dean meekly agreed, opening his eyes and marshalling whatever strength he still had. Was more glad than he would admit that Sam did most of the heavy lifting to get him upright, didn't release him even when he was on his feet. Instead Sam pulled his arm over his shoulder, cinched his own arm around his waist and put them into a slow meander toward the freezer door. Dean knew he was listing hard into Sammy but his brother was taking his weight like it was his own, had done it enough times in the past that he guessed it was almost second nature. Just like Sammy's weight was to him when his brother couldn't walk on his own.

Even freed of the freezer's confines, Dean still shivered in the cool temperatures of the packaging plant, felt the bite of his nearly frostbitten jeans against his cold skin as his feet shuffled forward. Then he was being levered down, found himself sitting on a stack of containers, Sam's hands coiled around his biceps to ensure he didn't topple backwards. Then Sam was commanding "Stay put, I'll be back" before his brother disappeared into the depths of the plant, only to return a minute or two later with a frozen air sealed steak. "Here, hold this," his brother ordered, as he took hold of Dean's hand, raised it until it was pressing the steak against the side of his head where Molock had slammed his head against the wall. At first Dean groaned in pain at the contact of anything against his so tender face but then the cold started to dull some of the throbbing.

"Better?" Sam asked hopefully, needed to know he had done something to ease some of Dean's pain but all he got back was a weak halfway positive hum from his brother.

Then Dean, for the first time, saw Sheriff Bishop…and Pete's body, read the Sheriff's grief in the hunching of his shoulders. Reaching out, he patted Sam's arm, suggested, "Sam, go check on him." At his brother's worried look at him, for him, he quietly assured, "Go." To which Sam nodded and went to the Sheriff's side, held a quiet conversation that Dean just couldn't find the ability to track, not with the piercing pain in his skull…and the throbbing his back was starting to emanate.

He didn't hear Sam's approach, knew his brother was using his gentle tone when he crouched down in front of him, "Hey, how are you feeling?" And Dean couldn't even feel belligerent at the kid gloves his brother was using on him, or even deny he felt just terrible. "Like I just went twelve rounds with a god, so, you know, normal." And then the sheriff had said those words about legacy, his family's legacy and it just hooked into Dean, would fester there awhile, hours until they reached the bunker.

But Dean hadn't said anything then, had let Sam pull him to his feet, again he used his taller brother as a crunch to get to the Impala, passenger side. And he didn't offer one word of complaint or bravado when Sam picked up his feet and put them in the car when he didn't think he could move another muscle. He understood Sam's pat to his leg as a 'hey you're ok, I've got you' reassurance even as his brother again raised his hand to hold the steak in place. And Dean had moaned in pain when he leaned back into the seat, his back protesting contact of any sort. Lucky for him, Sam was rounding the car at that point, hadn't overheard his sound of weakness.

Then there was the drive home, he remembered Sam waking him a time or two, asking some questions, concussion questions. He supposed he got them right because he didn't wake up in a hospital instead of the bunker's garage. Sure, he almost face planted when his brother opened the passenger door he was leaning against but Sam caught him in his arms, straightened him and levered him out of the car. Then Dean pulled free of his brother's hold, not because he didn't need it but because Sam's hands had inadvertently collided with the live wire of pain his back was. He did more a drunken man's shuffle out of the garage, could feel his brother's presence at his side, his hands out, ready to catch him if he faltered again. Which Dean vowed not to do.

But when he finally turned into bed, when there was no more Sammy watching to keep up appearances, Dean had more crumbled into bed than anything else. Didn't care a woot that he hadn't undressed, still wore his shoes. Just needed all motion to stop, to not let anything touch his back, even his shirt and jacket were too much weight but he knew it would take entirely too much effort and foreseen pain to get them removed. And after a few minutes, sleep dragged him under and he didn't have to worry about pain anymore.

SNSNSNSN _**Present**_ SNSNSNSNSNSN

Sam was heartily tired of his mind's Monday morning coaching. It was over, he and Dean were still breathing and he couldn't undo his mistakes today, could only learn from them. ' _How? Stay locked at the hip every job? Stay safe and sound in the bunker? Not get anymore leads from the British Men of Letters? Retire and let the Devil's child grow up and rule the world?'_ No, Sam knew that none of that was even remotely plausible. He knew Dean would never go for it.

Surging off the bed, Sam stalked barefooted out of this room and headed for the library, for that bottle of Scotch Dean hit when beer wasn't able to take the edge off of the crapstorm that was their lives. But even as he turned left he halted, felt drawn to check in on Dean. Though his brother would hit him for doing another concussion check, Sam knew he was only in danger if he got close enough for Dean to land a blow from his bed. So he poked his head into Dean's room…and felt a fluttering of fear.

Dean was asleep on his bed, yeah, but he hadn't bothered to even kick off his shoes, heck, he still was wearing his jacket, looked like he had crawled across the mattress and flopped face down onto his pillow and was dead to the world. ' _Please don't use that phrase when it comes to Dean, like ever_ ,' Sam reprimanded himself even as he pushed the door open far enough for him to slip inside, to stand at the foot of his brother's bed and decide what he should do…and not do.

Memories assaulted him, of the times Dean did this in their lives: Didn't take off his shoes, his coat, fell into bed like he had been poleaxed, went until exhaustion toppled him over and put him down for the count. This had been the normal after Dean had gotten out of hell. His brother had tried so hard to not sleep and when he did, he had nightmares every second of those moments when his eyes were closed. Or at least the times Sam was there at night, didn't sneak away to plot with Ruby.

Ok, those memories so weren't helping his guilt meter for his failings today. Nor were they taming his fear for his brother's physical or emotional wellbeing. Abandoning his idea to stay out of striking distance, Sam came to Dean's side, leaning over and settled his hand on Dean's back, hoping to ease his brother out of sleep instead of jolting him. However that plan seemed ill advised when Dean grunted in pain, arched away from his light touch but his brother still remained locked in sleep, turned his head away from Sam and settled back into his pillow.

But Sam wasn't going anywhere now, knew the sound of his brother being in pain better than he ever wanted to. Knew he hadn't touched Dean's head wound, the only injury he thought his brother had suffered. But Dean's compulsory reaction to pain had been when Sam had touched _his back_. With the skills of a consummate steady handed pick pocket, Sam inched Dean's jacket and shirt up to reveal his brother's back. And then he wanted to hit his brother, to rail at him for not mentioning the freakin' deep bruising turning his whole back into a color palette.

Remembering the small pool of blood on the stair's landing, Sam suddenly knew he had gotten it wrong. Dean hadn't been knocked out there by Pete…he had fallen there…from the railing above. "Damn it, Dean!" he groused, no longer in quiet mode.

It was enough to jolt Dean awake, go to turn over and quit the operation mid motion as pain shot through his lower back right up his spine. He crashed down onto the mattress again, hand fisted in his sheets trying to work through the pain without shouting. Knew that Sam was there with him, that it was his brother's voice that had woken him up.

Instinctively, Sam wanted to lay a soothing hand on Dean, would have land it on his back…but knew that was one area that he had to avoid. So he settled his hand in Dean's hair as his brother took in harsh breaths, fighting to work through the pain. "Dean, why didn't you tell me you fell in the house?"

And it would have been easier if Sam sounded angry but he didn't. Instead his brother sounded hurt, upset…and Dean knew the cause: he had purposefully not told his brother about his fall in the house. Partly because it was his own stupid fault, I mean really, losing his balance and falling over the railing?! That was just pure clumsiness, and he didn't deserve sympathy for it…not to mention he figured Sam would love to needle him about it endlessly. And partly because..…if Sam didn't needle him about it, he would do what he was doing right now: worry, get all serious and intense. Start talking about hospitals, x-rays, the lasting effects of back injuries and then there would be the nail biting anxiety and the guilt that he hadn't been there. ' _Hadn't what? Caught me like a damsel in distress?!'_

At Dean's silence, Sam pressed, "Dean?!" because he could tell by his brother's breathing that Dean hadn't fallen back to sleep, was trying to wait him out.

Knowing that Sam didn't give up, especially when it came to taking care of his big brother, Dean sighed, shamefully admitted, "It was stupid…embarrassing. I tripped…over some clear plastic sheets tacked up on the doorways in the house."

Lifting his hand from Dean's head, Sam rubbed his face. Leave it to Dean to feel _embarrassed_ over being seriously hurt…or dying and turning into a demon. So it was with a voice of affection that he said, "Dean, it's not stupid or embarrassing…it's serious. And something I should have known about. And I'm sure you had some help with your "tripping"."

"Pete was probably laughing his head off when I went over the railing," Dean grumbled, hated when his incompetence amused the bad guys.

"I think he was too busy running for the cellar door to lock me and his brother down there," Sam retorted, angry at himself all over again for not getting up the stairs faster, heck, for letting Dean go upstairs without him.

"That's reassuring that he didn't have time to gloat," Dean petulantly remarked.

Knowing this rehashing wasn't getting them anywhere good, Sam announced, "So how bad's the pain, Dean? Should we get you checked out at the clinic?"

And there it was, the old hospital topic. "It's fine," he declared, was going to force himself to roll over to prove his point but his brother's hand fell on the back of his neck.

"Hey, hey, lay still Dean. Let me at least check you over," Sam insisted, all the while wondering if he would know if Dean suffered any serious spine injuries. It wasn't really his specialty, which ran the gamut of bullet wounds, knife wounds, curses, run-ins with walls and other furniture, head trauma, lots of head trauma, especially when it came to his brother's thick skull. But Dean obediently settled back onto the bed, showed his trust in Sam. Drawing in a breath, Sam fisted his hand to steady it and then reached out to his brother's abused back. Though he tried to make his touch light, he still felt Dean jolt a little when he pushed on different areas to determine if there was internal bleeding, contusions to organs and the like.

"Ribs are bruised for sure," Sam diagnosed. "No internal bleeding that I can tell. You're a little tender around your liver."

To all this Dean said nothing. He was too busy holding his breath so he didn't cry out in pain as his brother's fingers prodded his back. Then he felt his brother's fingers slipping down his spine not with much pressure but enough when there was bruised muscles being touched.

"Crap, Dean, I don't know what I'm looking for," Sam dejectedly admitted, half way down his inspection of his brother's spine.

"Bones poking through my skin, that wouldn't be good," Dean joked because Sam needed him to.

Sam snorted in laughter. "Yeah, that would be a real giveaway." And Dean's smart aleck remark, it was enough to settle Sam's nerves, gave him the courage to dare to press a little harder on the lower half of Dean's spine, to make a true assessment. Redid the top section with the same heavier hand before he lifted his fingers from his brother's spine and declared, "Don't feel any breaks or misalignments."

"I'm not a car, Sammy…and I'd be in trouble if I was with you assigned as my mechanic," Dean quirked when he could finally draw in a breath without fear of crying out in pain.

"Jerk," Sam adorningly lobbied at his brother before he hesitated, timidly asked, "You want help getting out of your jacket?"

"No, I'm good," Dean mumbled into his pillow, all set to return to the near unconscious state his brother had found him in.

But that didn't set well with Sam, knew Dean would be uncomfortable with the rough fabric touching his back, not to mention it would be harder to ice Dean's back with the jacket in the way. "Well, tough. It's coming off and I'm helping you."

"Aw, Sam," Dean whined, even as he clenched his teeth and started to push himself up from the mattress. Instantly, his brother's hand was wrapped around his arm, helping with the sitting up agenda. Even though Sam purposefully went slow, and Dean had to go slow, Dean felt shaky and awash in pain when he finally was kneeling on the bed. And that was before he did something reckless and tried to shimmy out of his coat.

"Ok, let me do all the work," Sam advised, slipping to the front of the bed to face Dean.

"I always let you do all the work," Dean sallied back, got only a grunt from his brother at his remark, saw that Sam was wearing that intense expression, was all set to be super vigilant to not hurt him more than he already was.

Then Sam's hands were inching his jacket down off his back and the sleeves off his arms. "Ok, move your left arm free," he instructed and Dean did, cursed as that cruelly made the muscles in his back spasm. It wasn't fair that so many things sent jolts of pain through his back, that so many muscles tied into his back.

Leaning over to Dean's right side, Sam slid the jacket down his brother's right arm then tossed the jacket to the foot of the bed. "Shirt on or off?"

"On. I'm still cold from my freezer time out," Dean admitted. Saw Sam flinch and knew something he wouldn't like was coming next. "What?"

"You're not done with being cold Dean. I need to ice your back, get some of the swelling down," Sam delivered the bad news with sympathy.

"Swelling's fine," Dean protested, maneuvering himself carefully belly down onto the mattress. And he honestly didn't care if Sam continued to sit there by his head, he wasn't moving again. Not even if Sam dug out his little brother pleading tone.

Huffing a bit, Sam stared down at his brother's head as it rested on the pillow by his leg. "If fine means it's spreading, then you're right. Dean, it needs to be iced. Stay here, I'll be back."

"Not going anywhere," Dean mumbled into his mattress.

' _Promises, promises_ ,' Sam thought, wished Dean's pledge was for more than about not moving from the bed. ' _Like promising to not go off alone again and nearly get himself killed. Or go in for the big finale to save the world for the third or fourth or ninth time. Or whatever number we're up to.'_

Sensing Sam's lack of motion, Dean asked, "You ok?" knew that a pensive, lethargic Sam was a bad thing.

"Not the one almost killed by a god today," Sam returned but found it hard to move, to go get the ice. Because maybe he hadn't been the one nearly killed today, what he was was worse: he was the one nearly left behind. Like he thought he had been a few months ago and that memory, it was still sharp and painful, was bleeding anew after his scare today.

Dean heard the fear in his brother's tone, was truly sorry he had put it there. "I know I screwed up today. Sorry, Sammy."

And leave it to Dean to _apology_ for nearly dying, for scaring the crap out of him. It made Sam's long held back words surface. "Mom wasn't the only one I was elated to see show up in that basement where I was spending quality time under Toni's tutelage of cross cultural hunting ethics."

Dean stilled, knew that Sam's vocabulary was vast, him being a college boy and all. But he didn't choose his words lightly when he chose to open himself up emotionally. So "elated", that was pretty specific…and had Dean swallowing hard. "Guess I never apologized for that either. The old 'so long forever' that wasn't…wasn't forever."

Sam sucked in a breath before he chastised in a broken tone, "Dean, don't apologize for that! Don't ever apologize for that! I don't care that I thought you were dead, I only care that you weren't, that you came back."

"Didn't do it soon enough though," Dean said, his guilt and regret evident. "That chick had already…."

But Sam laid his hand on Dean's head, causing Dean's words to cut off. "Doesn't matter. You showed up, brought our freaking mom with you. The other stuff before that…doesn't matter. Especially since Cas healed me."

"Yeah but the emotional scars, they stick around," Dean solemnly said, knew he was talking about Sam as much as he was talking about himself. Knew that they had years and layers of it, some newly scored there by their long lost but recently recovered mother. And yeah he had agreed to work with the British Men of Letters at Sam's prodding, didn't mean "Mary's" defection didn't still hurt.

"Huh, I thought that was what the alcohol was for and the long straight roads in the Impala," Sam retorted, wanted to bring some levity back into the stilted air as he lightly snapped Dean's head before he pulled his hand away.

Dean snorted. "You bet it is, Sammy. Don't forget pies. Lots and lots of pies."

"Dean, I never forget the pies," Sam insisted, smiled as he waited for his brother's objection.

And Dean didn't disappoint. "Oh contraire, bro. Many a time, many a time."

"You're delusional, as always, even without the present concussion," Sam charged, and speaking of his brother in pain. "Hang on, I'll be back with the ice," he announced, getting up and leaving the room, cursing himself for delaying it as long as he had, as long as Dean had by not confessing he was hurt sooner.

While Sam went on his mission of mercy, Dean lay there, humbled at his brother's compassion for him, like he always was. Then Sam was back, was claiming a spot on the side of the bed, warned, "ice pack coming" before he put action to words. Even so, Dean stiffened as the packs were strategically placed on his back, not only at something touching his tortured back but at the cold. "Great, more cold time out today," he complained but knew Sam would know he appreciated his efforts.

"Almost forgot about your head," Sam murmured, settling another ice pack on his brother's head. "Dude, you're like a pro football player after a game. Maybe I should be setting up an ice bath to soak all your sore muscles."

Dean shivered at the mention of such a torture. "Not happening, Sammy."

"'Kay, Dean," Sam quietly capitulated, hadn't missed the shiver that shook his brother's frame. He was about to force himself to get up, leave Dean to hopefully fall asleep when his brother spoke.

"Why did you take me along on the men of letter's hunts instead of mom?" Dean at last asked the question he was afraid to, knew he was only brave enough to do it now because he didn't have to face his brother, couldn't read his expression, wouldn't know if Sam lied to spare his feelings. "You knew I would be pissed the hunts came from them, that I might even tell you to get out…like I did mom."

Sam's face screwed up in incredulity. "What?! Of course we went on the hunts together, Dean. Today's a prime reason why we _shouldn't_ split up."

Ignoring Sam's reprimand for the day's missteps, Dean pressed softly, "You could have hunted with mom, Sam. _Mom_." Like that was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Only a fool strolled by it.

And maybe that was true, if you weren't lucky enough to already be in possession of a treasure.

Sam knew he had to be gentle, not just for his own emotional footing but for Dean's feelings. "She's my mom, I get that and I want that relationship to work. But it feels like…like it's just in name right now. But you…you're my brother, Dean, my family in ways that mom…. _Mary_ can never be. You could say she missed out on too much but ….that's not the real reason."

Dean held his breath, braced himself to hear his brother's words. "What is?"

Sam smiled, knew Dean just never got this part. "You set the standards too high, Dean. No one's going to rank higher with me than you." Because his mom might have been willing to kill herself and get green lighted back to _heaven_ , but his brother had condemned himself to be murdered and go to _hell_ for him. And that was just the tip of the iceberg of what his brother had done for him, of how much his brother loved him, of the ways his brother showed that love.

Tension suddenly bled out of Dean, tension that had been coiled in his soul for the past months, not just since Mary's defection but before…since his mother had returned, when his sole familial rights to Sammy had come into question. But also guilt came, that he had backed Sam into a corner, had made Sam make a choice. So when Dean spoke, there was an earnestness and openness in his tone that only his brother could engender from him. "I know I made her leave…and that wasn't fair to you. You have a right….you _should_ have a relationship with her. It doesn't have to be pick a side…like it was with Dad. I should have never made it seem like it was, with him…or with her."

Humbled by Dean's words, his brother's offer, Sam sighed, "Dean, if anyone pitted us against each other, it was mom. Was Dad. You…you were always trying to be the peacemaker between dad and I."

"And you were trying to be the peacemaker between Mom and I and I growled at you to pick a side." And Sam did, the Brits'. ' _And mine. He didn't ditch me for them. He snookered me into working_ _with_ _him_ _for_ _them,'_ Dean reminded himself. _'Sneaky little brothers.'_

"In case you didn't get the newsflash, I picked your's, Dean," Sam clarified, didn't want there to be doubt between them. "I might have underhandedly gotten you working for the Brits but when I confessed what I was doing, if you wanted to get out, I would have bailed with you. We're a package deal, remember?"

Not wanting to read too much into Sam's declaration, Dean deflected, "The Brit's rules are screwed up nine ways from Sunday, Sammy." Dean couldn't believe that Mick almost executed Eileen for a mistake, a horribly bad mistake but a mistake all the same. One that could have happened to any one of them.

Recognizing a tactical misdirection from his brother, Sam wanted to put them back on the subject at hand. "Dean, it's you and me, you get that right? Legacy, no legacy, bunker, no bunker, American hunters, British men of letters, none of it matters more than us staying together, not to me."

"But if you could have mom…." Dean doubtfully started to pose.

"I had mom…and I still chose you, remember. You missed it but…after you told her there's the door…I told her she should go," Sam confessed, felt Dean tense on the bed. "And when I went to see her at the compound, she said she needed me, I thought she was in danger…I didn't…I wasn't…."

"Sam, let's not rehash this. I feel bad, no, I feel down right awful right now so let's recap our family drama another time," Dean groused, shifting on the bed, hoping Sam got the point to get off the mattress and leave him in peace.

But Sam didn't move, instead bit his lip and tried to phrase his words right. "She is family."

"Sam, please," and there was a note of real pleading in Dean's exhausted tone.

"But like you said, I've lived my whole life without her. But you, whenever you've been…gone," Sam's voice cracked on that description, it meant so much worse than absent. "It's like I'm not whole, will never be whole again. And I've tried… _everything_ to fill that hole. Nothing has ever worked, will ever work, Dean. And today, when I thought, when you were gone and I thought…" Sam feel silence trying not to let his emotions run away with him. Dean didn't speak either, left the room blanketed in silence until Sam broke it. "I don't want or need some famed legacy, Dean. I just want you to be here, to stay. Would be great if you didn't take stupid risks with pagan gods, would stay in one piece, mostly," Sam tacked on the last with an affectionate broken chuckle.

And Dean was amazed by Sam's declaration, that after all Sam could do with the men of letters resources and connections, all the life choices now open to him, their mom's love and attention his for the taking, he was still hanging around with him. He could hardly believe that Sam wanted the status quo of their partnership, their brotherhood to continue as it had been, had secretly feared the day Sam would jump ship, like his mom had already done. And here Sam was, again picking him, like he had time and time again, no matter what a horrible bet he was, for survival, for happiness, for a future. For an honorable legacy.

"Dean, just…say something," Sam pleaded, needed to know how Dean was taking his words, if he was getting through to his brother how important their brotherhood was to him, that Dean was.

"For the record, you're more fragile than I am," Dean pointed out, a lightheartedness to his tone that hadn't been there in too long. "The broken arm, the thing with your elbow that put you in a sling, then the times as a kid you broke a bone and you weren't even _hunting_. Dude, you're looking at some serious arthritis setting in, way before I am."

Sam laughed, shot back "Dream on, old man," but he knew what Dean's quip meant: Dean got it, got what Sam was saying. That they were in this for the long haul. Together. And in that moment, Sam realized that what no one else would understand: the greatest thing about him and Dean wasn't the times they had saved the world, it was the times their brotherhood had saved each other. Now that was the stuff of legends and legacies.

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The End

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Thanks for reading and I hope someone out there enjoyed it.

Have a great day!

Cheryl


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